Thursday, August 22, 2013

What is Loved is Never Lost OR: Full of Sound & Fury

I'm overwhelmed right now. There's a lot going on. I'm not weak or shallow or blind - this is heavy shit happening with and to both my family and me. I'm trying to be a bad ass but, damn! it's for real. So, i need to get a little nostalgic. It will do me good to remember some stuff.

Reester Seester designed this. It has been made into a shirt for who ever wants to to wear it to the annual party held in my brother Michael's memory. Mine is purple and i am so excited to wear it. Let me explain ~

Michael was a life-long dirty birdy. He always included swears in his vernacular from the time i can remember him speaking. The first Easter i can remember involves his vulgarity, even if i didn't know it at the time. Allow a transcript:

Momster: Go upstairs and get Mike. It's time for this Easter stuff.
Me (after plodding up the steps in my footsies, at the tender age of 5, and barging in to 13 year-old Mike's room): Mikey! Mom said come downstairs. We got Easter bunny baskets!
Mike: Go away! I'm playing with myself.
Me: Okay.

I plod back down and relay the message:
Me (to Momster): He's playing with himself.

I was all nonchalant, just telling her what he told me. She went bananas! Storming up the stairs and then yelling at him. I thought it was my fault. Nope. That's on him.

Once when i was in kindergarten, Michael, his twin sister Silly, and I were waiting at the end of driveway for the bus. Silly asked Mike why he kept digging in his pocket. To which he replied, "I cut out the bottom of my pocket so I can play with my balls." Silly said he was sick but I just wanted to know what kind of balls. Did they bounce? Could I see them? He just laughed and laughed. I thought about his stupid balls all the way to school.

He was also the King of Gross. He was always burping and blowing the smell at someone's face or holding someone down and doing yo-yo loogie or farting in their ear. He used to hack up big meaty lugers and cup his tongue like a bowl and let little Samantha, Reester Seester's dog, LICK IT OUT OF HIS MOUTH! I am totally fucking serious. Still holds the title for grossest dude I've ever known.

Anyway, the shirt design. Mike was insanely disgusting and always hilarious. The design up there is a foot with toes spread out, see? That's how you could get him. He wasn't a fan of feet in the first place but you could take off your sock, hold up your foot and spread those little piggies out and he would actually retch a little. If you were near him, he might even scream a little and flail around like a maniac trying to get away. That was awesome.

Miss you, Pickle

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Wish I Had Something to Blog About

Boring alert - I got nothing. Today was a mind fuck but not in a good way. I went from checking out a potential new art space to work meeting to the emergency room to work meeting to porch to the haunted house. So here I sit waiting for the ghosts to start messing with me, but nothing. I've even managed to bore them. I didn't bring my laundry and I already did all the work stuff I brought to do. I zipped up things on my virtual farm which is possibly the most embarrassing I could have ever admitted. And I don't even care. I'm numb. There's no way I'm looking up anything questionable on my boss's computer and, anyway, I'm not in the mood. I guess I'll go back to finger weaving stupid scarves no one wants pretty soon because it's totally mindless and it helps me feel like I'm accomplishing something. I can't drug myself into sleep or drink until I pass out because I'm in charge of another human all night. I tried to sleep because I am so so tired but my brain is a dumb jerk and is all:

 Hey, don't forget that your brother-in-law is dying. That he is in pain that is unimaginable all the time even though he smiles and says he's okay. Don't forget that he has to fight against his body to breath. Think about your sister who has had so much pain and hardship piled on to her over and over for years. Think of her son, your precious little Z-man, spending his golden birthday in a terrible place he shouldn't even be. How about Michael? Your sister's twin and your hilarious big-mouth brother who died nearly 14 years ago - that day is coming right up. Worry, worry that your brother-in-law goes on Z-man's birthday in two days or on the anniversary of Michael's death a week later. Yeah, worry about that one even more. Worry that this 36 year-old-man who has laughed every day of his life and took such great care of your sister might live 9 more days in pain, tired, and just wanting rest but holding on because he wants to comfort us. Doesn't want to hurt us. And if that's not enough to think about, worry about crap that is actually arbitrary, like how you're bringing people down being all sad and deep and scared and stupid. Worry about your mind breaking again like it did 14 years ago. About losing all your friends, your job, your apartment, your ambition. Imagine that the panic attacks come back and you get depressed or, worse, super mean again and ruin everything good that you have.

So, yeah, I'm going to go finger weave the ugliest fuggin' "scarf" I can with two entire wads of yarn and watch Married With Children until the sun comes up.

Pleasant dreams, everyone.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Re: What happened to your head hairs?

Oh yeah? You're so perfect? You don't suck at anything, right? Well i do, even when i get to feeling invincible because i did one million things in row correctly. Clean the house with in an inch of its life. Mend the jeans that i've been sticking my feet through the knee holes in for two years. Make killer salsa followed by delicious enchiladas. Several other things. Yeah, i shaved my big toes without incident. And then, and then, i decide i can cut my own hair. So i do. And it's horrible. It's like the fourth worst haircut i've ever given myself. Do i stop there? No. I wait a few hours, enjoy a few more beverages and get out the clippers. Now... I think i'm at my second worst.

Here is where i would insert a picture of the hack job were i an owner of technology that doesn't suck.

So, yeah, that's what happened to my head hairs. Whatever. That shit grows back.

UPDATE: The delicious enchiladas have made me into a monster! I can no longer do anything besides lie moaning, sweaty, and drifting in and out of salsa-induced nightmares, waiting for the next bout of firey blasters to send me down the hallway. No amount of Tums and witch hazel can help me now. I fear it is the end. I'm comforted knowing that my hair will continue growing after death. I demand not to be cremated until after it looks acceptable again.

Monday, August 12, 2013

I Might Actually Explode

I'll admit it. I'm not a genius-aire. I don't eat ideas for breakfast. I'm not a complete doofus, though, and I can handle most situations without exploding myself. Lately however, I have been dealing with one of the more difficult normal things. Most humans are like, "Oh, cool. I like someone and I'm going to ask her/him out." But I'm all panicky about what's the way I should go about it. Here's what my awesome fucking brain has come up with:

"Nice face. Seriously. I like it a lot. Can I stick mine on it?" (Alternatively, the last sentence can be replaced with, "Can I suck on it a bit?")

"I'm bored. Wanna make out for a while?"

"I dare you to be my boyfriend. I'll triple dog if I have to." Hmmm...that doesn't sound right.

Anyway, liking people is the pits. It's so undignified. I prefer to have the other person take the reins. Not because I'm a lady and I feel it's not my duty, but because A) I hate almost puking when I talk, 2) the only time in adulthood I made the first move, I ended up with a Rock Star girlfriend who broke my brain, and C) did i mention the puking thing?

I'll keep double swallowing until I get this. Hopefully my brain will give me something better to work with before my bile eruption is under control.

Saturday, August 10, 2013

No Brainer

You come home. You've been drinking. Your whole life so far is the past and things that you've known, dealt with and carry with you. Those are heavy things. Josh is your enemy and you had to look at his stupid ugly face out of the blue AND while trying to enjoy a meal - ? Yeah, Josh ~ You suck. But whatever. All these things are true. But now - now you have a thing. The thing is an owl with a fat beak and black eye and a bonus slinged wing. HA! You asked for that thing. All the other stuff was just handed over by the Universe and it's yours and you're like, "What the fuck-shit?! I don't want this. What asshole ordered this?!" Just like all the rest of the garbage you have around.

But now, surrounded by the items amassed through pasts unwanted, you need to make room for this owl. It deserves and will have a place in the chaos. Down falls Mojo Jojo, even though he was a bad ass villian and also cute. Down falls the feminist call to action reduced to a button badge. And down falls the little tiny foot prints that kept death and life and the fine line between them so intricately entwined. They are all just things. Someday you will remember. And when you do, you will realize that Right Now not only makes the present but shapes the future. Oh! How it must be treasured!

Thursday, August 8, 2013

It's Official - Not Falling Asleep Tonight

I'm babysitting overnight for a child that I recently quit taking care of on a daily basis. Once a job is over, you tend to forget certain things about it; for instance, just how terrifically fucking haunted this house is. And then there's the dogs.

In the beginning, on the occasions that I spent the night here, the Boss Mother would insist I sleep in her room. I tried that first night...for about 12 seconds. The rest of the nights I just messed up her bed and made sure I was awake and had put away the blankets I used on the couch before she'd get home. I finally had to tell her that I couldn't figure out how to work her TV so I was just going to stay downstairs. I can't sleep in that room and here's why: Besides the fact that there is an old-timey spinning wheel, prison tower style, in the corner and that all surfaces and windows are covered with white lacy stuff, there is a wardrobe with a mirrored door in there. It's like an exact copy of one that I saw on one of those TV shows where people recount their experiences with ghosts and demons and all other type of shit that will straight ruin your night brain forever. The wardrobe in the show had been in a little boy's room and he started getting freaky and violent and scared about "The Dark Man in the Mirror" and all this other blizz. They had to get rid of it in the end before their kid got his shit back together. Apparently, Boss Mother bought it not knowing the real history - but I will not be fooled. No muthafuckin' way am I sleeping in a room with a cursed mirror that is possibly a gateway to demonville. Also, when you're downstairs at night, her bedroom is where all the creepy-ass pacing noises come from. So, yeah, no thanks.

HOLY MOTHER OF CRAP! THIS IS TRUE AND JUST HAPPENED. I'M ABOUT TO POOP MY PANTS. The girl, let's call her Penelope, just called my name softly, at first I thought it was the other voice I heard earlier when it became apparent that I was not going to fall asleep, but it was Penny. She called my name again and I went to stand by the stairs. She was leaning over the side and said, "I just had ghost dream. It said, 'Get out' or 'Help me' or something. Can I go sleep in my mom's room? The mean ghosts don't live in there."   Ummmm....what?! Seriously. I've got 2.5 hours to go and I don't know if I can make it.

I was going to write about all the other shady business that goes on here, like the landline doing a punctuated half ring sometimes, or the basement door opening forcefully and randomly, or the dogs barking madly at nothing, and how Penny ALWAYS talks in her sleep to people who are dead (there are A LOT of dead people this kid knows for only being 10), and the grandfather clock that Boss Mother said hasn't worked in 15 years chimes sometimes when I'm here. And the fucking voices! I can't understand the words but there are at least three different voices. The one that really gets me is the giggling girl who seems to answer Penny when she talks in her sleep - only her voice comes from the basement instead of upstairs. I wish I wasn't so totally broke because I'd have said hell no to an overnight shift.

I've heard that I'm supposed to verbally acknowledge entities like this because they're not all bad and all they want is someone to notice them. I can't do it. I'm too chicken shit. In fact, I better stop typing now in case they can read and I'm offending them. I'm going to see how many channels Chef Ramsey is on right now and try not to piss myself.

Maybe someday I'll write about the idiot dogs that live here.

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Cleaning My Room Makes Me Talk to Myself. Also, Breakfast

I'm pretty busy right now researching things like terrariums, aerographite, sugar skulls and leaves so I don't have a lot of time to work on rather long blog posts. Instead, today I will be posting a couple bits of the kind of crap that pops out of my mouth when I am cleaning my room at 4 in the morning, drunk, and watching crappy horror movies alone. The following garbage came flying out while watching Unborn:

"Aw, YEAH, lady! ... Did you just shoot him in the penis?! Nope - shot him in the chest. I guess I'm just a..." here I switched to singing "...MONSTER! Just a-shootin' off dicks like can-DEEE!!"
There was a whole lot of vibrato at the end.

And later:

"OH MY GLOB - it's biting her vagina off which can't be, so I retract that and instead yell '...biting off her vulva and maybe her pubis mons, but defs her labes!' That took way too long and she's dead already. Next time I'll just say pussy and cover all my bases."
I shouted that whole entire block of nonsense. Then I heard Cousin Roommate go to the bathroom and I knew I had woken him up, what with all the saying every single thought out loud and sometimes yelling and sometimes singing, so I shut my fat mouth.


Unrelated to drinking and cleaning at 4 am, here is how I ordered my breakfast the other day. Well, first I should explain that I had been camping and woke up to a massive thunderstorm which soaked everything except the inside of my sleeping bag. So even though it was freezing as we left, I had no choice but to wear the sundress i fell asleep in and a pair of pajama pants that were balled up in my sleeping bag with me. I was cold, partially drunk still and super tired.

Girl at counter (so perky I could've punched her): Welcome to Hardee's. What can I get for you?
Me (shivering uncontrollably): Schpishcuits.
GaC (cocks head to one side): I'm sorry?
Me (pointing at the picture): With gravy.
There is a long pause during which her smile starts to falter.
Me: Texas toast.
Gac: Ummmm. . . sausage, bacon, or ham?
Me: juice.....water.
At this point I bent down so I could put my head on the counter. It was all so difficult.
GaC: Soooo, you want biscuits and gravy, sausage texas toast sandwich, orange juice and water?
Me: Yeah, dude.

I got my food and was half done before my friends were done taking their hobo baths or washing their feet or whatever. They never saw a lady working there - all guys, they said. That's fine. I got my schpiscuits and that's all that matters.